The next day Nox was eating breakfast together with Torven. The atmosphere was rather stiff, their conversation was formal and limited mostly to the subject of Nox's leg condition.
Nox would occasionally glance at Torven, who, despite his large hands, held his fork and knife with surprising grace, delicately slicing the meat on his plate. For a moment, Nox thought he looked like some nobleman with impeccable manners. Torven likely sensed he was being watched but said nothing.
Eventually, Torven coughed a little and said, "I hope it's not too soon, but if you don't mind... let's spar today. You need to get better." Nox's eyes widened. 'Already? Would it be hand-to-hand combat?'. In the end he decided to agree. He needs to get back on track as soon as possible.
Right after breakfast, Nox decided he feels well enough to run to the stables. "Run" was perhaps too strong a word. Although his ankle looked fine, after just a few steps he could feel the joint stiffening. He knew it would take weeks before he could walk without limping again, if that was even possible. He followed the familiar, weed-covered path toward his friend.
Just as Torven had promised, the stable was unlocked. He almost cried when he saw Gerhart. This time, he could freely step inside and gently stroke the horse's neck. Gerhart rubbed against Nox in joy and softly snorted.
"Sorry, I left you behind. I'll make it up to you once I'm better," Nox whispered, kissing his stallion's nose.
As he was leaving the stable, he encountered Velkan. He nodded in a friendly manner toward him, and Velkan returned the gesture. No words were needed; they shared an unspoken understanding.
Nox took a deep breath and allowed himself a moment of calm. Despite the pain and uncertainty, seeing Gerhart and Velkan reminded him that he wasn't alone. He didn't even know when he started considering Velkan as his friend.
Later in the afternoon, Nox followed Torven to the small training yard on the far side of the estate. It was a dusty piece of land tucked behind the building, bare, sunbaked, and well-worn.
Torven started preparing himself and stretching his arms as though preparing for a spar. He was dressed much the same as usual, but the sleeves of his black shirt were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the veins along his forearms. Nox noticed how thick they were, his arm looked about the size of Nox's leg. He snorted quietly at the thought, even though he wasn't a poorly built warrior by any means.
Torven slowly turned around. Nox cleared his throat softly. They stood now face to face.
Torven slowly turned around, arching a brow. "You're not planning to just stand there looking pretty, are you?"
Nox frowned slightly at the remark and gave a tiny shrug. He didn't want Torven to think he was one to break his word, but he said nothing.
"Can you tell me what kind of training we'll be doing?" he asked.
Torven nodded. "We need to get your physical condition back on track. We'll go easy on your ankle for now. Just let me know if anything starts to hurt too much."
He paused, then asked, "Shall we start with swords?"
Nox agreed, and Torven went to retrieve two wooden training swords. He handed one to Nox and stepped to the opposite side of the yard.
"Let's see what you've got," Torven said. "I'll attack - you defend."
Nox widened his stance, knees bent slightly, and prepared for the first blow.
Torven didn't hesitate. He launched into a series of quick strikes, first overhead, then sweeping in from the right. Nox managed to block the first, but the second nearly knocked the sword from his hands. He instantly noticed Torven wasn't going full strength. The blows came only from one side, carefully measured. He was protecting Nox's injured ankle. That thought stirred something bitter in Nox's chest.
Was it concern, or did Torven think he was just weak?
"Why don't you just hit me properly?" Nox muttered bitterly through gritted teeth.
Torven glanced at him, an amused glint in his eyes. "You're not ready yet."
Nox bristled. "That's not your call."
The warrior chuckled. "Alright then, Nox. If you insist."
His wooden blade whistled as it sliced through the air. Torven then surged forward. This time, he didn't hold back. The strike came in low and hard, catching Nox off balance. He stumbled, lost his footing, and landed hard on the dirt, skidding a few feet across the yard.Grinding his teeth, Nox pushed himself up and brushed off the dust. His jaw clenched as he met Torven's gaze again.
"Again."
Torven sighed but complied. Another powerful strike sent Nox crashing down once more.
They repeated the exchange several times. Nox rose slower with each round, panting and drenched in sweat. His muscles ached, and there was a sharp sting in his ankle.Despite the exhaustion, a heavier weight pressed on him: shame. He'd grown too weak. Months of inactivity had dulled his strength, eroded his reflexes. He barely recognized himself.
Torven approached and extended a hand. Nox looked up, expecting mockery or triumph. But there was none, only quiet concern.
"Are you alright?" Torven asked.
"Besides not being able to block a single attack?" Nox muttered.
Torven didn't answer. Instead, he withdrew his hand and sat down beside him on the ground.
"Give it a few weeks," he said calmly. "You'll be stronger than ever."
He said it with confidence, Nox didn't understand. But he wanted to believe it.
Then it was Nox's turn to attack. He got to his feet and readied his stance as Torven lifted his blade in defense. Nox charged. He swung from above, then the side. Every strike was parried effortlessly. Torven moved with an almost lazy precision, anticipating every move as though reading his mind.
It was infuriating.
Nox suspected it wasn't just his inexperience, it was also his ankle. Every pivot, every twist slowed him just enough to make him predictable. He gritted his teeth.
"Do you really want to keep going?" Torven asked, quietly now.
He didn't elaborate, probably not wanting to wound what remained of Nox's pride.
The more Nox tried to prove himself, the sloppier his attacks became. His footwork was uneven. His swings, wild. His frustration clouded his judgment.
Finally, Torven raised a hand. "Wait, Nox. Take a breath."
Nox hesitated. He was ready to give up. But then something inside flared: his pride, perhaps. Or defiance. He dug his heel into the dirt, took a deep breath, and launched into one final attack.This time, he didn't aim directly. He darted forward, but twisted at the last second. His body ducked low, then spun to the side. Torven turned, surprised, just in time to block the strike from behind.
Their wooden blades met with a satisfying crack.
Torven grinned. "Now that was good! Let's repeat that tomorrow."
Nox smiled, somehow proud of his accomplishment. He felt as if he was slowly reclaiming himself.
Both of them stood, breathing heavily. Sweat soaked their clothes. Beads dripped from Torven's brow.
He tugged at the hem of his shirt and wiped his forehead, revealing his bare chest and toned abs beneath. Nox swallowed hard, suddenly all too aware of the heat, not just from exertion.
But before he could get lost in sight, another thought came crashing through his mind.
Where on earth was his Mark?!
Torven caught Nox's distracted gaze and looked at Nox with his usual serious expression. "You're wondering where my strength comes from, aren't you?" he said, lowering his sword.
Nox nodded, not knowing what else he could say.
Torven sat next to Nox, looked up toward the sky and said gently:
"I wasn't always this. When I was a boy, I was smaller than most, even weaker. Growing up in the north, strength guaranteed survival. My father was a hunter, and he taught me early on what I needed to do. I spent years chasing after him through forests, climbing trees, carrying heavy loads, anything to toughen my body and mind. My father showed me how to track footprints in the forest, how to hunt, and how to wait, sometimes for hours, without making a sound. I remember cold mornings when frost bit through my clothes, but he never let me complain. I learned to respect the land. He made me the man I am today."
Torven hesitated a little...
"No, actually, this is all bullshit. I was just sold to slavery as a kid. I had to get strong to survive. Survive or die."
Nox's breath caught in his throat. The weight of Torven's words hit him harder than any blow from their sparring.